


It Comes in Yellow, Too

by Otterskin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Identity Issues, It's not quite fluff but I wanted to bring something with a little levity to this fandom, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), dad thor, uncle loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2019-12-18 06:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otterskin/pseuds/Otterskin
Summary: 500 years after Ragnarök, the Asgardians are still wandering the universe looking for a home. Loki returns from a mission and has a quiet homecoming with his family, including his niece. She’s just seen a very amusing play and has some awkward questions.





	1. Chapter 1

 

**LOKI**

* * *

“I liked the play. It was very funny.”

Ironically, Ragna’s little yellow face was utterly solemn as she said that.

“Yes, well…tragedy often is, in retrospect,” Loki replied.

“That explains much about our lives,” Thor laughed, throwing an arm around his brother. “It’s good to have you back. How did it go?”

Loki looked to where the actors were still taking their bows on set.“Of course it went well, I could trade a sack of rocks for a king’s favourite daughter if left to speak long enough. Did you _really_ organize another showing of that play just for my homecoming? Just for today?"

Thor started steering them away from the stage and towards his home on the edge of the settlement. “Of course not just for today.” He patted Loki’s shoulder comfortingly. "It’s going to run for at least a week, otherwise why expend so much effort putting it together? We can see it again tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that…”

“You really are the worst, Brother.”

“I only have one example to learn from, Brother,” Thor teased.

Ragna raised her arms in the motion for ‘up', her face stern. “Uncle Loki!”

Thor smiled. “Ragna, you’re getting too big for that. You know your Uncle is not as strong as I am -“

“Are you trying to make me jealous of your ability to be a beast of burden? That aside, just because I am not built like a horse does not mean I am incapable of imitation.” Loki stooped down, then scooped Ragna onto one shoulder. Her arms quickly wrapped around his head, and her long mane of hair immediately began to tickle his nose.

“See, Brother?” he managed to disguise the strain of his words with a grunt. "She weighs as much as a sunbeam.”

“You’re walking faster,” observed Thor wryly.

“It’s been a long journey, and I am eager for supper,” Loki countered. “What is Idona cooking?” he asked innocently.

“One of your favourites - Roast Quail with Apple Sauce and Onions. with some substitutes. Miniature _Quakka_ birds instead of quails, squashed _ja-ja-lum_ berries instead of applesauce, and potatoes instead of onions.”

“That is…what we always have.”

“It’s what grows here,” Thor shrugged. “But we did arrange differently.”

Loki tried to re-adjust Ragna surreptitiously. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“Why aren’t you blue?” Ragna asked loudly. “The boy in the play was blue. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Both men blinked and lost a step in their easy pace. Thor looked to Loki, clearly intending to let him answer. It was a nice gesture, but he couldn’t help a pang of panic and resentment towards no one in particular. Thor clearly hadn’t thought through the repercussions of staging that play again - it was five hundred years ago, why could he not let that go? Of course Loki still told stories of how Thor had croaked for a week after mother had made Loki change him back, so of course he'd -

Ragna spoke again. “Did you grow out of it? Were you only blue when you were little?”

Loki managed to find his voice again, although when he spoke, it was as if some bystander were saying the words, and he merely nodding along. “In a manner of speaking - ”

Ragna interrupted. “So will I grow out of being yellow? Is it the same?” She stuck out her hand and inspected it.

Loki snuck a look at Thor’s face. A crease had appeared there. He looked from Ragna to Loki, clearly torn between wanting to speak and wishing to allow Loki the chance, first.

“No,” Loki said quickly, before Thor’s indecision wore off. “No, I don’t think so, Ragna. It’s not the same. Besides,” he shifted into a lighter tone “-you’re already a very pretty girl. I wouldn’t want one thing about you to change.”

“I want to get bigger,” she pouted. “I’m too small.”

“Well, if you eat your miniature _quakkas_ tonight, you certainly will get bigger,” Loki promised, a touch too eagerly. The conversation had nearly been diverted -

“I’m glad. I like being yellow. I'm like a flower.” she smiled, raising her hands up to the sun (while Loki tightened his grip on her legs as she leaned back). Small lights travelled up and down her arms, just under the skin.

“A lovely flower,” agreed Loki, while Thor visibly relaxed. “A very special one.”

“Thank you.” Ragna replied automatically. “But why isn’t it the same? Flowers come in lots of colours. I’ve seen blue ones and red ones and purples ones and yellow ones and they’re really the same kind. And you’re my Uncle.”

 _God rot,_ Loki sighed internally. _So close. We were about to just be able to shove dinner in our mouths and negate the ability for speech._

“Do you remember how the play began, Ragna?” He started carefully.

“Yes, there was a very boring bit where the fake-you talked for ages and ages and ages about how sad he was. His hair did fall off for a bit though, that was very funny. His real hair was red and it stuck out sometimes.”

Loki shot Thor a look.

“It was a rushed production, I only got word you’d be back three days ago,” Thor laughed. “You can be assured ‘tighter wig’ will be on the list of things you need to trade for next time.”

Loki shifted Ragna’s weight again. “No, the bit after that. With…the boy on the rock.”

Ragna nodded. “Yes, that was Ingvi. He was very itchy. Is Yodel-vine an itchy place?”

“That was probably the ja-ja-lum berry juice, Ragna. All we could get to turn him blue on short notice,” Thor said quickly.

“Well, in the…real version of events…I wasn’t the same age as Ingvi, or even your age. I was a baby.” Loki continued, continuing to distance himself from his words. “My father…found me, there. And took me home.”

“I know, I know,” Ragna protested. “You said all of that a long time ago. But you didn’t say you were _blue,”_ She was indignant, as if that was the best part.

“Well, I suppose I was. I was too young to remember. My father…changed how I appeared. And then a little later I met my brother and my mother. That is not the usual order one comes to know one’s family in. So you see, though I am your Uncle, Ragna, we do not…we do not look alike or share blood. I was from a planet called Jötunheim, like you saw in the play. Your father is an Asgardian, and your mother was from a planet called Mobius. And so we aren’t the same.”

Thor reached over and plucked Ragna off of Loki’s shoulders. Loki stifled a sigh of relief as his brother placed Ragna back on the ground. She still looking puzzled.

“I don’t understand. I don’t look like anyone else, not just you. And I don’t share blood with anyone, that’s gross.”

Loki continued walking.“‘Blood’ is just another way of saying ‘genetics’. When you have children, you pass down traits.” he explained. “Your father passed down his traits to you, as did your mother. I am neither Asgardian nor Mobian, and so we are not related by blood.”

His stomach was starting to clench. _It’s been over five hundred years since I put this in a play to share with the masses. You’d think this would have gotten easier._

“But you have the same Pabbi and Amma as my Pabbi.” she protested. “That’s why you look like them, even if you looked like someone else before. So you’re the same."

This was veering very near dangerous ‘where babies come from' territory, and _that_ particular unpleasant conversation he was determined to leave completely to Thor.

“That’s not _quite_ how it works…you can’t change your biology, even if you change parents. My… _original_ father passed down…my genetics. My _adoptive_ father, your grandfather, used a powerful spell to make it appear I had always been one of the Aesir. But that didn’t actually…change anything underneath.”

Ragna nodded, seeming to understand. “So it’s pretend. Like in the play. You’re a pretend Uncle, not a real one.”

Loki’s walk stumbled. _What is it with children and stepping directly into wasp nests?_ He wondered distantly.

Thor had stopped walking. “No. No, Ragna, it is not pretend, like in the play. Loki is my real brother, which means he’s your real Uncle.”

Ragna looked non-plussed. “But sometimes you throw things at him to see if he’s real.”

Thor shot a weak smile at Loki. “That’s…an old joke. He’s real, but sometimes he likes to trick - that doesn’t matter. Loki isn’t playing a part. He wakes up my brother and goes to sleep my brother. At no point does his wig fall off. You see? Real hair.” He reached over and tousled the locks in question. The friendly touch was clearly meant to also affirm their bond, to show Ragna their easy affection. Admittedly, a small bit of tension eased from Loki’s shoulders.

Ragna wrinkled her nose. “But he was blue, and now he looks like you. How is…how is Grandfather’s spell different from the berries on Ingvi? Can Uncle Loki not wash it off?” There was a note of fear to her voice now. “Is it stuck on? Is that why it’s not pretend anymore?”

Loki couldn’t help but chuckle to himself about the source of her horror. _She’s not entirely wrong - isn’t that the rub? It was pretend, more or less, though I did not know that I was playing. It is true I cannot easily remove this mask - not only because it is ‘stuck’, but because the mask is me. And the mask did not like finding out what lay beneath it._

 _But,_ he chastened himself, _this is not about you._ This…sickness, this horror that still churned in his gut and always would when he felt his two faces chafe against one another - it would not be her sickness. He would make sure that they were not the same. She feared the correct things. It was already too late for him.

Loki bent down and offered his hand to Ragna.

“This is who I am.” he said with a confidence that only came to the best of liars. “It is the shape I have worn all my life, and it is - my default. My natural state. But that was because…things were not…safe for me, to be as I was. Not like now. You will never be asked to look like anything other than yourself, and that is a wonderful thing. You are a wonderful thing. It would be a shame to hide you away. You are very special, Ragna - and everyone who sees you knows it.” He pulled at his pocket universe and produced a bloom he had picked on Orlon IX. Bright, yellow, reaching upwards. He placed it behind her similarly yellow ear. “Flowers do best in sunlight,” he smiled.

She reached out and touched his face, pulling at the flesh as if to check that the colour didn’t wear off in her palm. “So you’ll never…you’ll always look like this?”

“I hope not. That moustache was certainly not always there,” Thor laughed. “And it could do with better filling out.”

Ragna ignored him. “I want to see. You’re magic. You could…if you wanted.”

“Ragna, that’s enough,” Thor chastised. “You’re being rude.”

“But I want to see,” she insisted. “Why does he get to choose, and I have to be yellow all the time? It’s safe now, he said, but if it’s safe for me then why is it not safe for him? Why is he different? I want to choose too.”

 _Wherever I go, it seems conflict of some kind follows. Father was not wrong._ This was going exactly the way Loki hadn’t wanted it to. How could he expect otherwise, when all he said was ‘Do as I say is for the best, not as I do myself?’

Loki swallowed. “One day you’ll understand,” _And isn’t that the go-to response of the adult putting up the white flag? You’re too little, you couldn’t possibly understand and I do not care to explain so you would. Instead, I condescend and say you are currently incapable and inferior and must be waited upon to improve._

Is that how his parents had thought? That they could not tell him, that he would not understand? That if they waited, one day he would miraculously become the sort of person who could ‘handle the truth’? _How silly it was of me to try and be more like father, and then not anything like. I was always like him, no matter in which direction I strove._

“When you are older, you can choose,” he said finally. “But trust me when I say this is better.” _Father thought he knew best too, and even now I do not know if he was wrong or right._ “One day, Ragna, you’ll think I am a very silly man.” _And you will pity me._

“I think you’re silly now,” she quipped. “If I could do magic, I would be a different colour every day.”

Loki started. Then wanted to laugh. _I forget, sometimes, that she does not attach the same meaning._ Is that all it was? Just plain envy over aesthetic freedom? Had it been so simple, so…childish?

“Yes. I am a very silly uncle.” he patted her hair as if consoling himself. “But at least I am not as silly-looking at my niece, with all that grass on her head.”

Ragna looked confused, then seemed to feel the tickle as her hair shifted colour and texture. She brushed her hand over it, and her hooded expression opened into wonder.

“Such a shame. We shall have to water you like a plant tonight, and that not-quail sounded so delicious…but we can’t waste it on topiary,” Loki teased.

“Can you turn it purple? That’s my favourite colour,” Ragna said, clearly not as invested in dinner as she was in this new trick.

“Hmm. I’ll check the back, see if we have that in stock. Ah, yes - we’ve got lilac, we’ve got magenta…and it comes in Palatinate, as well.” He tapped her head after saying the name of each shade, and it changed to match.

Ragna blinked, grabbing fistfuls of hair and staring, entranced. Then she looked directly at him, and said “Show me how," in a voice that anyone who didn’t know her would think was monotone.

“Well, it is simply a matter of understanding how wavelengths work. You see, when light hits certain…”

They finished the walk to Thor’s family home, where a pregnant Idona was waiting, calmly sitting at the table and chopping potatoes. She had her feet up, and an expression that clearly stated ‘you didn’t expect me to cook dinner alone in my condition, did you?’

When at last they were all sitting and eating, Loki had a chance to share his tales of how he’d out-witted the Grand Vizier of Moord (it involved Loki wearing a stole made of _quakka_ bird feathers and convincing all ten of the Vizier's wives that _quakka_ were extremely fashionable in the Andromeda system, and they were dreadfully behind the times. Within a week he'd started a fashion statement and sold every last stole for millions of credits each, despite _quakkas_ being as common as colds). Thor then took the time to dramatize the more ridiculous calamities of the diplomatic processes with the local government (including the stipulation that they not tread on the grass too much outside their small, temporary settlement, as apparently they were very proud of their general lawn maintenance. There had even been suggestions that the Asgardians learn to hover a few inches above it). Idona then managed to make her woes of sore knees and varicose veins the funniest of the stories by far, purely by flailing her limbs around in a sitting jig.

Throughout it all, Ragna listened quietly, but her attention remained on the flower her Uncle had given her. She filled it with her own magic and tried to change its hue, a little at a time. Occasionally, Loki would lean over and correct her form, or else whisper a small bit of advice into her ear.

When it was time to clean up the dishes, she’d managed to give it a few greenish spots. Before her disappointment could overwhelm her, Loki complimented the changes and called the pattern a distinct improvement.

After, they went outside for a little stargazing (and to let their queasy stomachs finish digesting the rather oily _quakkas_ (being a fashion icon had done little to improve their edibility). Idona showed Ragna how to orient herself with the stars, placing her hand over her step-daughter’s in order to point and trace the constellations.

“...and that one is Asgard,” she demonstrated.

“I thought Asgard was destroyed,” Ragna protested.

“It was,” Idona affirmed. “Yet the light that it emitted is still travelling through space. It will shine for another millennia here, at least.”

“I see,” Ragna agreed, clearly deciding she’d been confused enough for one day. She laid back and put her head on Idona’s stomach. “It sounds like the ocean,” she informed Idona. “Only with more meat in it.”

“Two whole pieces of meat,” Idona smiled. “Twins can certainly be as overwhelming as the ocean. We’re going to have to be a team to take them on. You think you’re ready?”

Ragna nodded, her cheeks lighting up like fireflies where they rubbed along Idona’s stomach. “They’ll be little. I can fight them off, for sure.”

She punched her little fist into her palm.

“I’m only kidding,” she affirmed immediately afterwards, her face still utterly nonplussed, though hesitant. She looked at Loki. “Do you want to see them?”

“See them?” Loki asked.

Ragna looked at Idona, who nodded encouragingly. The little girl sat up, then began rubbing her hands together. Sparks of light began to build inside her fingers, until her hands were so bright they hurt to look at. Then she pressed them against Idona’s belly. It lit up, much like a thumb in front of a lantern. A red orb, with two distinct shadows curled within.

Thor scooched closer to his wife and pressed his hand to her stomach alongside Ragna’s.

“Fraternal,” he told Loki. “So at least we’ll be able to tell them apart. Well, when they’re older. Most babies look the same, to be honest. All squished. And blobby.”

The twins were facing one another, backs curled against the world. As if each were forming a shield for the other. Already, before they were born, they had an other. Guaranteed someone like them in nearly every way. Then there was the image of their family entire - an older sister, a mother, their father - all reaching out to them, as if to already welcome them. It looked like a warm thing.

“They are very fortunate,” Loki said. “They will clearly be loved. Very much.”

“Brother, is that a catch I hear in your voice?” Thor teased. “And that is an awful lot of blinking for a dark night with no sun to blind you.”

Loki resisted the urge the blot his eyes on his sleeve. “I see no need to apologize for a little emotion. I have been alone on a barely-functional ship for over a year, with nothing but the hissing of broken air vents for conversation and mouldering stoles for company. That sort of deprivation no doubt causes all sorts of emotional unbalances, it’s only to be expected I'd -“

At some point during his ramble, Idona had reached over and grabbed his hand, bringing it to rest on her belly with the others.

It _was_ warm. He could feel her pulse under his fingertips. His touch felt so very cool against it, and for a moment he felt a flash of self-conscious worry. He tried to pull back, but Idona held his hand firmly, seeming to anticipate his urge to recoil. Not forcing, but tightly enough that the instinct was stymied. An assurance of welcome.

His mouth was still open. He carped wordlessly for a moment.

“Thank you,” he managed.

The shadows within Idona stirred sleepily. The moment stretched, and Loki tried to feel nothing but the happiness and contentedness that it would seem to demand. Still that feeling at the back of his mind seeped through, that voice that declared that he was nothing but a visitor to this peace. At worst, an invader who couldn’t help but be a piece out of order, invited in from the cold out of pity and obligation and misspent love. Even here, when it was in his grasp…the warmth felt beyond a window, and he only looking in.

And yet he was invited in anyway. Their strength, their conviction could override his doubt. Though he could not banish the sense that he did not deserve what was so easily given, he could allow himself to accept it.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

The moment stretched a while longer.

Then Idona wriggled and muttered “Ragna, it’s too hot -“

“Sorry, Idona,” Ragna said quickly, lifting her hands. They dimmed like coals thrust into water.

Shortly after that they went to bed. Loki’s small, one-room cottage stood in the corner of the plot. His bed was buried under all the various boxes and knick-knacks that had migrated into this room in his absence. Families were always looking for more storage space, and he supposed an empty second residence was just too tempting.

It took some time to dig it out, but he was still not tired when he finished. He lay in the dark, suddenly missing the sounds of the heaving ventilation and whining power cells of his ship. The sounds of the creatures on this new planet distracted him - whoops and trills and insects singing for a mate. The longer he listened, the louder they grew. It was not even really dark - flashes of light came through his window, causing his belongings and the various bits and bobs Thor’s family had stored to paint twisted shadows on the walls. Orange light, then greenish. A pink flash. Blue.

He rose again to investigate. The light was coming from the main house, from one of the smaller bedrooms. Ragna’s. It seemed she was still trying to change the hue of the flower, and was determined to try all night until she had it.

It brought back memories of hiding under his own blankets to practice spellwork, several lifetimes ago.

Somehow that made the flashes reassuring. He fell asleep soon after, recalling distant memories of holding a snake that grew fur, then feathers, then insectile wings.

When he woke with the sun, it was to see his door ajar and a slightly crumpled flower sitting on his bedside table. It was now entirely blue but for a single petal, which remained the same golden yellow it had been yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I do not like ‘crotch dumpling’ sequels - it’s the sort of thing Disney Direct-to-Video Sequels would do. But in the case of THOR, a series specifically about the relationships between parents and children, during which the children became adults (but not yet parents themselves), it only made sense to want to explore how Thor and Loki would be as father figures. 
> 
> This ended up being very different from how I originally conceived it, and I'm probably going to let it be more organic and smaller than planned. I love to hear your comments, critiques, writing advice, etc. - by all means, leave comments good and ill, I welcome the chance to improve!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ragna gets into trouble at school. Her father knows a little about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank JaggedCliffs for her help Beta-ing this work. If, somehow against all odds, you've discovered me before her, please check out her incredible fics. I owe her a great deal for her support as I worked on this and another work.

**RAGNA**

* * *

“C’mon, Ragna! Do it again! C’mon, do it do it do it!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s really neat!”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Don’t be a hidey-hilf! Just show us.”

“I’m not a hidey-hilf.”

“Then prove it!”

“…Fine.”

Ragna rubbed her hands together quickly. The little stars that floated about beneath her skin ignited, flashing brightly and swirling like miniature replications of the cosmos. The other children stared in wonder.

“It’s like you’ve got space in your hands!” Gull cooed.

“How are you doing it?” Hillevi asked.

“I dunno. Just can,” Ragna muttered.

“It’s ‘cause her mom was a…a…Mogglian,” said Kensley with total confidence.

“A _Mobian,_ ” Ragna corrected.

“Close enough,” Kensley shrugged.

“No, it wasn’t,” Ragna said a little louder.

“Can the rest of you do that too?” Ingvi reached out and prodded her shoulder. It sparkled momentarily. “Oh, cool!”

Ragna started. “Hey - don’t -“

Hillevi was already grabbing her hair on her other side. She twisted it between two fingers, and a ripple of light flickered at her touch. “Look, this can do it too!”

“Aw, that looks different!” Ingvi pulled on another lock. “It’s like how sunlight looks on the bottom of a pool!”

“Stop it!” Ragna warned, trying to grab her hair back.

“Hidey-hilf, hidey-hilf!” mocked Kensley.

“Am not! I just don’t want you _poking_ me -“

At which point two of the other children started poking her legs as fast as they could, marvelling at quick flashes of light they ignited with every prod.

“Stop! Stop it! Leave me alone!” Ragna kicked out, connecting with a nose.

Gull started crying, blood gushing all over her shirt.

“Hey, no fair - it was just a bit of fun, we weren’t _hurting_ you!” Kensley frowned. “Teacher! Teacher! Ragna kicked Gull, and she’s bleeding! Ragna meant to do it!”

“He started it! He was poking me!” Ragna protested. “And so was Gull!”

“That may be, Ragna, but you drew first blood,” chastised Professor Gunnarsson as he walked over to the scuffle.

“It wasn’t - _hruurk -_ her fault, teacher,” said a new voice.

Ragna’s heart dropped a few inches. _Oh, no. Not him._

“They were pestering her. Trying to make her glow, like she can do. She told them to stop but they kept doing it. She was just - _snnnnrk -_ trying to get them to go away.”

Oluf Unnajarson was not a bad person. Looking like he did, he couldn’t really afford to be. While it seemed the case that Mobian and Asgardian genes mixed to some success in Ragna, the same couldn’t be said for Queega and Asgardian DNA, at least in Oluf’s case. His skin was always oily from the moisturizer he needed to rub on hourly, and even then it was still flaky and scaly in places. He always had an unfortunate greenish tinge, too. But worst by far was the constant magma-like phlegm he suffered from, leaking from his nose and clogging his speech.

“They wouldn’t - _snnnrggg-_ leave her alone, I swear it,” The half-xeno assured.

“Is that so, Oluf?” Professor Gunnarsson asked.

Oluf nodded.

“Hmm. Well, children - if you poke a bear, you can’t be expected to receive sympathy if it bonks you on the nose.” The teacher smiled. “Try to listen when someone tells you no more, alright? Or I’ll have to - what was that? What - Solvi Steensdottir! You get that axe out of your sister’s head this instant! Oh, wait, no, blood loss, right - Solvi! Leave that axe in your sister’s head this instant!” Professor Gunnarsson was running across the field, pursued by an excited gaggle of children. There really was no better spectacle than axe-removal.

Ragna hesitated, not wanting to be alone with Oluf - but not wanting to be pressed in with the crowd of rubbernecking children, either.

“We gotta stick together, us half-xenos,” Oluf said brightly, scratching his chin.

Ragna watched flakes of dandruff float around Oluf with horror. She swallowed. “Um…thanks.”

“Do you…do you maybe want to come over after school?” Oluf offered, eyes shining. Or maybe that was just a bit of magma leaking from his eyes now, too. “My mom just got this new gravity-suspender thing, we could just literally…hang out. It’s pretty…pretty neat.”

“Oh. Um. No…no thanks…” Ragna stuttered. _Be polite. You’re a Thorsdottir, that means diplomacy. And not shouting ‘go away, you’re gross’ at the top of your lungs. He’s a nice kid who just wants a friend. You just…can’t be that friend._ “It sounds like fun, though. Maybe someone else will want to try.”

“Not…not really…” Oluf stuttered. “I think my mom got it to encourage other kids to-“

“Hey, look! Ragna and Oluf are _kissing!”_ shouted someone. “How weird is that?”

“What?” Ragna and Oluf said simultaneously.

“Oh, that’s so gross! Do it again!” shouted Hillevi.

A few kids bored of watching the professor attempting to yank an axe out of Solvi’s sister had turned around and wandered back.

“No! I’d…I’d never…not with Oluf... I don’t…” Ragna stammered.

“I guess that makes sense,” snickered an older girl. “Hey, do Half-xenos have like, a chance of having a totally alien kid and a totally Asgardian one? Like, two halves making a whole...”

“Stop it…it’s not…we were just talking…” muttered Oluf.

“Ragna and Oluf sit-in’ in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” came the chorus.

“No, I’M NOT!” shouted Ragna. Her skin flared white-hot and her hair stood on end.

“That’s not true!” shouted Oluf, spitting a bit of flaming snot. It splattered on the ground and started burning.

Everyone stopped and stared.

“Well, I say where there’s smoke…there’s fi-re.” The older girl laughed. “You look like a good match to me.”

“No! We’re not anything alike! He’s all weird, and I’m - I’m not!”

“Look pretty weird to me, too.” the older girl smacked her lips.

“It’s not the same! We’re not the same! I’m not - he’s - “

She looked at Oluf. His face had gone pale, and he managed to look sicker than usual.

“He’s…different.” Ragna finished, and her stomach lurched with guilt.

Oluf swallowed. Tears had welled up in his unnaturally large, gray eyes.

“Oluf’s gonna wail!” Laughed Kensley. “Big baby’s gonna cry ‘cause a girl was mean to him!”

Something seemed to crack in Oluf’s expression. His eyes narrowed, and he squared his shoulders. “I’m not ashamed - this is just…just a phase. My dad says so. But you-you're always gonna make dumb sparkles. But at least I don’t show off stupid tricks like that for attention.”

“OoooOOooo,” the audience responded, looking to Ragna for her response.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…that was uncalled for.” Ragna muttered, trying to push down the flash of anger she’d felt at ‘show off stupid tricks’.

“Yeah, and after I helped you, too.” Oluf seemed to be growing in confidence, suddenly aware that the crowd seemed to be shifting to his side. “What kind of gratitude is that?”

That struck her as so unfair, Ragna couldn’t stop herself. “I didn’t ask for your help!”

“But you needed it,” Oluf pressed. “Or you would have gotten in trouble!”

“I’m not afraid of a little trouble!” Ragna squared her own shoulders.

“Yeah? Then why're you always running away? ‘Oh, stop poking me, stop it -’“ Oluf mocked, and a few kids laughed along with him.

“Poke me and see what happens. It won’t involve running on _my_ part.” Ragna challenged.

“Why do you have TWO AXES??” Professor Gunnarsson’s voice echoed from across the playground. Clearly, he was still distracted.

Oluf hesitated.

“O-luf, O-luf,” cheered the crowd quietly, building in volume.

“Do-it, Do-it,” joined the first chant.

Oluf hardened his face, then reached out a long, deliberate finger and poked Ragna squarely in the centre of her chest.

The yard flashed white.

 

 

**THOR**

* * *

“There’s no better than Healer Vernon, trust me, your son will be able to see out of that eye in hours. And hey, maybe his leg is broken in nine places, but that’s still less than double digits! He’ll be hopping about once they get that axe out…Speaking of, I know Ragna didn’t go to class _with_ an axe, do you know where that came from? Bad question, bad question, of course. The important thing is, your son will be hale, hearty and axe-free very soon, that’s how good Healer Vernon is.”

Thor stopped to breathe, and to see how he was being received. Unna Osmondsdottir stared at him, utterly non-plussed. Her Queega husband had very, very slowly crossed his arms as Thor had spoken, and when he’d finished - spat a fiery bolt at his feet.

“You’ll be hearing from us at the next council. And I will be filing an exception for the time limit.” Unna turned, grabbed her husband’s hand, and vanished into the healer’s room.

Thor turned to Professor Gunnarsson. “So.” he said. “Axes?”

The teacher shrugged helplessly. “Apparently the Steensdottirs got a set for Yule day. There were six of them. I guess they left one lying around near where it…happened.”

“I see.” Thor drummed his hands on his leg. “So, um…how is Ragna doing in school these days?”

“Oh good, very good. Grades are…good.” Gunnarsson smiled weakly.

“Cosmology?”

“She’s memorized every system, she’s the star pupil of the class.”

“Biology?”

“She knows her frogs inside and out.”

“Mathematics?”

“I think she could apply herself more, her attention seems divided.”

“Battle tactics?”

“After today, I’m considering giving her extra credit.”

“Oh.” Thor rubbed the back of his neck. “So this…this hasn’t happened before?”

“Well…she did also break Gull’s nose.” Gunnarsson winced. “Something to do with being _poked_ in both cases, I’m afraid.” He flicked his fingers in demonstration.

“Ah…but before today?” Thor inquired.

“Oh, just general horseplay. We’ve got a basket of healing stones by the door, the children take care of it themselves when they come in from recess. Just a few healthy sprained ankles, headlocks, minor stab wounds, you know.”

“Well, that’s just normal. Nothing to worry about there.” Agreed Thor. “But, um…this…”

“Yes, this was a bit…excessive. But considering who her father is…I suppose that’s to be expected. You never did things without a certain amount of excess, Alderman.”

Thor nodded grimly.

With a squeak, another door opened. Healer Vernon stepped out first. A shame-faced Ragna followed, one arm in a sling and a patch of hair missing from one side of her head. On her other arm a few of her usual sparkles seemed to have been permanently switched to ‘on’, and they glowered angrily in the shape of a bruise.

“Hi, dad.” she said quietly. “Can you wait to yell at me until we’re home?”

“I’m just glad you came out looking better than the other guy.” Thor grinned.

Healer Vernon shot him an appalled look.

“Well, I mean, it’s better than the alternative.” Thor tried to recover. “Er, very bad. That it went so far. No. Don’t do it again.”

He looked at Vernon. The healer sighed, then moved across to the other door and opened it, calling to the nurse on duty inside. “I understand there’s an axe problem in here? No, the other kid. Yes, there were two kids with axes in them.” He shut the door.

Thor turned back to his daughter. “But seriously, at least you won.” He gently tossled her hair, sure to avoid the bald patch.

“I’m still sorry.” Ragna said. She buried her face into her father’s abdomen. “Can we just go home? And just…stay there, for awhile? I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Thor lifted her gingerly into his arms and carried her out of the clinic. They walked slowly, the sun setting behind them.

“Dad…can you…call Uncle Loki?” she asked quietly. “I need to talk to him. In person.”

“Loki’s supposed to be away for another month, Rags.” Thor said slowly. “Can’t it wait?”

“No. I want him here. Now.” She tightened her arms around Thor.

“Can’t you talk to me about it?” he asked softly.

Ragna was quiet for a few more steps. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Alright. I’ll try calling him tonight.” Thor said, stroking her head again. “Maybe he can find a break in negotiations.”

“Thank you, Pabbi.” she sniffed.

They walked a little further.

“What do you do when you get so angry that you just have to do something about it?” Ragna asked.

Thor adjusted her weight. “There was a time in my life when it seemed to me that being angry was…the best way to feel about something. Whenever I was afraid, or sad, or confused - these weren’t safe ways to feel about something. They meant I was vulnerable, that my position was threatened. But being angry - being angry was strong. If I were angry, people would be afraid of me, of what I might do. It meant I was still in control, or so I thought.” He looked back to catch the corner of her eye. “Your pabbi was a very stupid man for a long time,” he said.

“Why?” Ragna sniffled.

“I wanted to be angry because I thought I knew how to BE angry. That if I was angry, I could do what I wanted - I could flip tables, yell at my friends, invade other planets. It felt good, being Angry-Me. But it wasn’t strength. It was weakness. I was too weak to know how to be sad, or afraid, or lonely, or feel like I’d been wrong about something. It was easier to be angry and do what being angry made it feel good to do, instead of feeling…bad.”

The village was darkening as the twin suns set. Ragna’s sparkles glowed like fireflies, trapped under her skin. She cupped a patch of them in one hand, using her fingers as blinds to shape the light. She didn’t seem to be distracted, however - simply waiting for her father to continue.

"It’s okay to be angry. It’s not okay to hurt people. Or to use anger as a shield from feeling other things.” Thor huffed, a tone of regret entering his voice. “By the time I figured that out, it was nearly too late. People lost their lives because I was willing to trade their suffering for status, to soothe my own self-doubts. Other people used my anger to control me, because I longed to be angry about everything. I almost drove your Uncle away forever. I _did_ drive him away for many, many years. When he had problems that needed compassion, he knew not to come to me because I’d made anger my default. My brand. And when we were forced together, we’d do nothing but be angry at each other because that was easier than feeling everything else we didn’t know how to feel. It was easier to yell and shout and provoke than be honest.” After a few moments of silence, Thor prodded his too-quiet daughter. “So, Ragna - were you only angry today?”

“…No.”

“Were you feeling anything else?”

“…I was scared. And…ashamed. The boy I hit…Oluf…he was nice to me, but I didn’t want him to be. I didn’t want people to think we were…allies. I don’t want people thinking about me the way they think about him. I know that’s not nice. I know that means I’m not nice. But I don’t. I’m not the same as him. I’m me, I don’t want them thinking about me as a half-xeno first and Ragna afterwards. Thinking of him, and then thinking of me only because we’re both half-xeno and that means there’s a line drawn between us. He’s gross, and weird, and I’m…I don’t think….I’m not gross, am I?”

“Would I carry a gross person like this?” Thor joked, squishing her closer.

“Yes.” Ragna croaked. “If you loved them you would.”

Thor winced. _Ho, boy. Maybe I should have waited until I was home and could ask Idona for support...No. I can do this. This is normal dad stuff and you - you’re a great dad. You can dad this._

“Oluf isn’t the only other half-xeno here,” Thor said. “Aren’t Siri and Oydis half-Dakkamite?”

“They don’t look any different,” Ragna muttered. “They look just like everyone else. They don’t have to worry about it.”

“I think they do,” Thor said quietly. “I’m sure they do.”

“No-one notices they’re half-Dakkamite. But they can’t help it with me. I’m always yellow.” Ragna rubbed her face. “It’s not their fault. It’s just…obvious.”

“Well, I don’t know this Oluf fellow very well,” said Thor. “But I think it’s obvious you’re different people. Two people being different from what someone’s decided is ‘normal’ doesn’t mean they’re the same kind of different. That’s like saying iced cream and cabbage are the same thing because they’re different from the _quakka_ birds we have to eat every night. But would you mix iced cream and cabbage together? Does that sound delicious to you?”

“It sounds like a waste of iced cream!” said Ragna in horror.

“And of cabbage. Cabbage is good too,” Thor added.

“It really isn’t.” Ragna made a raspberry sound.

“To some people -“ Thor began

“Strange people with malfunctioning tongues -“

“-it is very viable foodstuff.” Thor finished. “But no one said you have to like it.”

“I don’t.”

“That still doesn’t mean you can be rude to it or punch it.”

Ragna made a face. “The cabbage is Oluf, isn’t it.”

Thor made a much funnier face back at her. “Only if you want to be iced cream.”

Squinting strategically, Ragna asked slyly “Can I have iced cream tonight?”

Thor shook his head ruefully. “If I give you iced cream, then the twins get iced cream, and when the twins get iced cream in the evening -“

“Then we’ve got twins until dawn,” sighed Ragna. “I know.”

Thor put her down on the ground. They were home. “Well…I suppose you do need something cold for those wounds. We can use that as an excuse.”

Ragna smiled, and if it wasn’t as radiant as it had been when she was younger - well, she did have a bruise on her cheek. It probably hurt to smile. A moment later it flickered. “Am I…still a bad person? I still hit Oluf. I still think I don’t like him, even though he’s nice. That’s not something a good person would do.”

“Those aren’t good actions, no.” Thor admitted. “But we can’t help how we feel, and doing bad things doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Though it’s important to look at why we feel something, and sometimes if we understand that it can change how we feel, and helps us make good choices. You don’t really hate Oluf, I think, but even if you did there’s no shame in that. People dislike other people all the time. The only way disliking a person is a bad thing is if you dislike a person for _what_ they are, not _who_ they are. Do you dislike Oluf because he’s a half-xeno?”

“Sometimes.” Ragna picked at a scab on one knee. “But not only because he’s half-xeno. Just…that he makes it harder for me to be one. He doesn’t mean to…but he does.”

“Those are some complicated feelings. It’s good that you recognize that - that you know what’s causing your anger, your fear, your sadness. Now you know that’s where it comes from, you also know you shouldn’t direct it at Oluf.” Thor wrapped an arm around her and they started walking again. “Because it’s not really about him.”

“Where do I direct it, then?” Ragna asked, but at that moment the front door banged open and the twins came running out, stumbling over each other.

“Pabbi! Pabbi! You’re home!” they squealed. Each grabbed a leg, forcing Thor to stop in place.

“Go ahead, Ragna! Help yourself to the I-C-E-D-SPACE-C-R-E-A-M! I’ll just get these little bilgesnipes off to bed.”

Ragna nodded, then went inside silently.

“Pabbi, that spelt iced-“ Ase began.

“-space-Cream,” finished Ake.

“Are we having iced cream?” they shouted in unison.

Thor groaned. Twins until dawn it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I ended up writing a few chapters of this months ago, and am just now returning to them to start publishing. I originally had a very different story in mind, where these chapters would have been the flashbacks. In the end, I think I'll make these flashbacks their own story. Hope you enjoy catching up with the Odinsons & Thorsdottir.


	3. Yet Another Doug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki does his best to survive yet another Intergalactic Summit, where every alien wants something from someone and all he has to offer is his performance, both political and magical. That a few mouldy fashion accessories.

**LOKI**

* * *

He caught a glass of…well, something that was at least _wet_ from a passing tray and threw it back before he could make the mistake of tasting it.

 _With any luck, this one will have some effect on me. Being a little inebriated seems to be a prerequisite for making diplomatic personalities palatable._ And that was a collection of words a drunk person definitely couldn’t string together. Clearly he needed more trays.

“Ambassador Loki, _there_ you are!” exclaimed a six-legged and ten-tentacled Humann-ogori-kii (no relation to humans, Loki assumed).

“I was just explaining that delightful little trick you showed me at the last Andromedan Council of Planets. The little light show, you know.” The creature quickly swarmed around him, giving him what was on their planet a traditional embrace. It left sucker rings on Loki’s face, and he rather thought that was on purpose.

He smiled pleasantly. “K’xling, fourteenth of your name! What a surprise. I thought it’d be another century before I saw you again.” _I hoped your kind didn’t live longer than that, but apparently the good die young and the annoying live forever. That drinks tray better be coming back around._

K’xling pulled Loki after xerself, gathering a small crowd of representatives from the local galaxy.

“You are…Loki of Asgard?” whispered one Darbian, towering above them. Even that low level of sound blew back Loki’s hair and sent his ear ringing. Darbians had concussive speech, and were highly respected as speakers because of it. It only took one clearing her throat for an entire room to hit the deck in defensive (but quietly attentive) positions.

“What’s left of Asgard, you mean,” grinned a familiar Epsiloni, revealing his parasitic fangs. “Tell me, how goes your search for new planets to bleed dry? Is there anyone left willing to pluck a teat from their own starving peoples and put it in the broken teeth of the Asgardian empire? An empire so careless as to have left the stove on?”

“Hello, Dron.” Loki made a big show of cracking his neck, exposing his jugular in what he knew was a tempting motion to the parasite. He heard a muffled growl of appetite and was pleased to see the Epsiloni bite the inside of his own cheek in an effort to keep his urges in check. “Aren’t you still dealing with those sentient microwaves taking over your world? Shouldn’t you be focused on that?”

“Neo-life isn’t just _microwaves,_ they are all kinds of appliances -“

“Focusing on your evil sentient eggbeaters and coffeemakers as well, then. That’s what happens when you let one company produce all your kitchen goods, making them think it’s best to connect them all and let them talk to one another in order to make the perfect breakfast. The singularity happens, apparently. And it still can only manage toast that’s burnt on just one side.”

Dron was about to retort, but K’xling trilled over him. “The lights, the lights, Loki!”

Loki raised his eyebrows in mock-hurt. “I don’t just perform on command, dear K’xling!”

“Yes, yes, why do you think I introduced you? Ko-on - the Darbian - has promised enough fresh water for your people to last two years. Stilka Nyu of Trath has offered a full moon’s harvest of _grathka_ grain, which I believe is compatible with your people - which she will double if she’s impressed. Even Dron offered to give you a lifetime supply of blenders.”

“Did he? Well, I think we’ll pass on that Trojan Horse.” Loki made a flicking motion. “Get on, Dron. Your wife has probably been eaten by a refrigerator by now. You should see to her.”

Dron departed, but not before caressing his own throat and looking meaningfully at Loki’s.

“Too good a vintage for your classless tastes!” Loki called after him, then turned his smile back on. “Anything else?”

“Er, well… we’ve got a fair amount of coal we could spare,” spoke a dowdy-looking man who seemed to be looking at Loki with no little awe already. “Trying to phase that out, at the mo.”

“This is Doug Jones, of Earth-2.” K’xling patted the human’s head affectionately.

“Actually, we think of ourselves as Earth-1,” Doug Jones corrected.

The Durban blinked. “That’s not what Earth-1 said.”

Doug pushed his glasses up his nose in an attempt to look superior. “Well, we think we were the original before the space-time doubling accident, and they think they were.”

“So you’re both Earth-1?”

“I suppose so.”

“Humans really are the worst,” sighed K’xling, slapping Doug across the face with a tentacle. It left a bit of slime behind. “It is shameful, being confused with you. Humann-ogori-kii are far older, you should have changed your species’ name to avoid dragging us into your reputation for ineptitude.”

“Sorry,” said Doug. “But the coal, though?"

“Coal?” Loki sighed. "I suppose I could transfigure that into something useful. It’s a little like offering me a tablet and chisel, though, Doug Jones.”

“It’s really all we’ve got lying around to spare - I'm sorry, I can’t help but notice the name…you’re _Loki_? The Loki? We’ve got stories about you. Is the horse thing -“

K’xling pulled Doug aside and hissed. “I told you he was sensitive about the horse thing, Doug! You’re embarrassing me!”

“Sorry, sorry - “

“Sleipnir was a father’s-day gift, and you can rest assured that it was my magic that ‘mothered’ him only, with far more participation from an actual mare and stallion as is quite regular.” Loki continued smiling. “I’ve explained this many times, and when I was on Earth even went to the trouble of editing your Wiki-Media nonsense, only for someone to change it back. I’ll take the coal, but with the addendum that you’ll see your Wiki-thing amended permanently too, hmm?”

“Of course!” Doug agreed eagerly. He leaned into K’xling and whispered “Wikipedia? He knows what that is? I only learned about that in third-year ancient media studies class…it’s like…a thousand years old.”

Loki closed his eyes and dug into his _seidr._ Nothing too fancy - always leaving them wanting more. “There was once a brave warrior named Sigurd…unfortunately ‘brave’ was the best of his qualities, for otherwise he was terribly dull at parties and rude to barmaids. But he did once slay a great dragon...”

A shimmering, golden version of Sigurd appeared, swinging about a large sword and winking at some of the fairer aliens in the hall. Before long, he was dancing through the crowd, fighting a large, red dragon, slipping in golden coins and bantering with the beast, all in Loki’s voice. More ambassadors wandered over to see what the fuss was about, and K’xling (perhaps he’d misjudged xer) was quick to explain who Loki was and secure several more promises of aid for Asgard, or else promises to trade for what they did have.

Loki was nearly at the best part - the bit where the dragon ate Sigurd and saved the townspeople from his very boring attempt to entertain them by playing Water Glasses - when someone tapped his shoulder and nearly ruined his conversation.

“Hi.” It was Doug Jones, grinning gormlessly. “Doug Jones here. From Earth-1. Just to let you know, some servant guy came by and said you had a message from Thor? I was wondering if you could introduce me. I know that guy too.”

The illusory Fafnir choked on Sigurd for a moment while Loki wrangled his concentration back to the illusion. It turned to look at Doug and said “Couldn’t you have waited until I finished?” in Loki’s voice.

Loki grimaced, regaining control of the illusion, and let Fafnir wash Sigurd down by drinking his water glasses, one after another. The diplomats applauded, and Loki decided that was as good a conclusion as any and let the light dissipate.

K’xling clapped its arms and tentacles in wild abandon, whistling through an orifice Loki had not yet glimpsed. “Marvellous! Just marvellous! I could watch a universe of those!”

Loki turned to Doug. “Where is the message from my brother?”

Doug squeaked and held out a yellow brick with a beak sticking out of it. “Right here!”

Loki took the thing gingerly, wondering how much of this device was organic and how much of it was friendly. “Thank you,” he said curtly, putting it in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Doug seemed disappointed.

“Thor can wait. After a performance is when the street magician extends his hat.” Loki stepped forward, smile once again in place, arm outstretched to shake the mechanical appendage the swarm intelligence of TIG7 had constructed for itself. “Yes, good to meet you too, Bzzzzzgt. I had the pleasure of meeting your ancestors just last month - how many generations has it been since then?”

Loki managed to secure a favourable trade deal with the Monofluvians, got a promise of safe harbour and reduced tariffs in a major galactic port, and even heard that _quakka_ stoles had become ‘retro’ fashionable again in Moord, which was excellent because his ship was infested with the depressed birds (they seemed to think they deserved to live in dark, airless pipes on his clunker of a spaceship, and would sometimes wake Loki up in the middle of the night when they started openly weeping in the walls).

When at last he’d exhausted the crowd, he turned to make his way discreetly to the exit. He walked right into Doug.

Loki bit back a curse. “Doug Jones, I’m afraid I really must -“

“We’ve got magic skiis. In a museum. We think…we think they might be Asgardian.”

“What?”

“Did you know a Skadi?” Doug smiled brightly. “We think they’re her skiis.”

“I don’t know…oh. Oh! OHHhhhhh…” Loki suddenly recalled. “Yes, she could be rather careless with those. I didn’t know she skied on Midgard - she usually preferred the challenge of Jotunheim, even when it was forbidden. Maybe she needed a bunny hill when she taught her children - your Alps would be harmless enough.”

“Would you like them?” Doug grinned.

“Y-“ Loki stopped, eyes narrowing. “What would you want in exchange?”

“Can I say ‘hi’ to Thor?”

“This is what your combined Earth government has decided is fair trade?”

“Um…yessssss….” Doug kicked the ground.

“Are you really the leader from Earth-1?”

“Well, technically I was here for a brand awareness deal - I’m the actor for Xanflax Food Tablets, you know - but all the politicians in the delegation forgot to get one of their vaccinations and died of Perfluvian Death Spots about twenty minutes after we arrived. So I’ve been made unofficial representative of Earth, seeing as it’ll take them another century to get the next lot out here.”

“Alright then. You have a deal.” Loki shook Doug’s hand.

Doug stared at his hand with open awe. “Wow. I met a god today. You’re going to remember me long after my great-great-great grandchildren are dead.”

“Not if I can find that drinks tray again,” Loki muttered under his breath. “That pink one with the toad in it should do the trick.”

He took the yellow brick out of his pocket and hit the redial button. It chirruped and cast a grainy 3D video of Ragna from its beak.

“Thor is very yellow and girlish,” observed Doug. “I will have to update the Wikipedia with that too.”

“Shut up, Doug.” Loki turned back to Ragna. “Sorry. He’s a human, they don’t live long enough to learn manners. I thought your father was calling me?”

“He did. I asked him too.” Ragna rubbed at her face, and Loki noticed a purpling bruise on her cheek. “I wanted to ask if you could come home. Just for a bit.”

“Ragna, have you been fighting?” Loki asked incredulously. “Please tell me you at least won.”

“Of course I did,” she sniffed.

"Well, that’s fine then.”

“Who’s Ragna?” Doug loudly whispered in Loki’s ear.

“My niece.” Loki tried to turn his back on Doug.

Doug turned in perfect tandem with Loki’s attempts to shake him off, still gazing at the projection. “You don’t look anything alike, though. Why aren’t you yellow too?”

“Because I’m actually blue, Doug.”

“Ha! Good one, Loki.” Doug clapped him on the back. “You really are a jokester. Just like the mind-matrix-compendium-of-ancient-cultures-mythology-dot-mem-file says.”

“Uncle, can’t we talk privately?” Ragna asked.

“Yes. We can.” Loki glared at Doug.

“What about Thor?” Doug whinged.

“Thor will personally ensure you have your very own cumulonimbus follow you, raining down hail on your soft head for the rest of your life if you make his daughter upset.”

“Oh, that sounds neat. Do I have to upset her? Or can I just ask nicely?”

“UNCLE,” said Ragna.

“DOUG,” snapped Loki.

“RAGNA!” Doug smiled. Then looked from Ragna to Loki’s utterly unimpressed expressions. He started to back away.“I’ll just...go over here and age at an alarming rate until you’re done.”

Loki waved him off. “Sorry, Ragna. That was definitely not worth a pair of old magic skiis. What did you want to discuss?”

“Can you…can you come home to talk about it?”

“Ragna, you know I’ve got to be here for the good of Asgard. What is it that I have to be there for? We can talk all you like in this manner.”

“I…I wanted to ask you how to do a spell.”

“Is that all? There are plenty of other magic-users in New-Asgard, Ragna. I know I’m your uncle, and also the best, but they are adequate enough to show you how most spells are done.”

“I thought…this would be one you knew best. I can’t find it in any of the books you gave me. And… I wanted to surprise everyone else with it.”

“Loki!” K’xling called out from the stairs. “They’re asking for you in the upper court. Apparently there’s a fleet of old spacecraft you can have - if the Emperor of Planet Funland Inc. likes you, that is.”

“What do I have to do to make him like me?” Loki called up to K’xling, who was already squirming out of sight.

“How good are you at complimenting someone who really, really doesn’t deserve it?”

“Very!”

“Might not be enough. Close your eyes and nose and don’t let anyone tell you about his past, or you might not be able to manage it!”

“Thank you, K’xling,” Loki chirruped. “You’re the best at explaining things, and have excellent timing!”

“Don’t I know it!”

“ _Very.”_ Loki sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ragna, but two of our biggest freight ships have broken down in the last year. I’m going to have to take this.”

“Oh. I understand.” Ragna hugged herself and rocked forward and back a little. “Maybe…maybe I can work it out by myself.”

Loki’s eyes suddenly flashed. “It’s not dangerous, is it? What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“No! No, it’s not dangerous. Just…just an illusion. Just to make something look like something else. Like the flowers. Remember?”

“ _Loki!_ I know you’re a grease weasel, but there’s a _wall_ of people trying to win over the Emperor and if you don’t slip through them right _now_ you can kiss that fleet goodbye!” K’xling called back again, and indeed Loki could hear a swell of other voices behind xer.

_“Never seen such a handsome man in all my life!”_

_“Goodness, are those shoes made of real baby elves? Only a real avant-garde could make misery into a fashion statement!”_

_“I think having only one three-foot-long hair coming out from the centre of your face is actually a bold statement on masculinity.”_

_“Oh god, I can’t do it anymore, he’s literally sitting on someone and crushing them to death - HOW CAN YOU ALL KEEP SAYING THESE THINGS?”_

_Amateurs,_ Loki thought. _That fleet is as good as Asgard’s._

He cleared his throat. “You mastered the colour-change spell a long time ago. What makes this spell so different? Perhaps you should wait until I’m back - I’ll only be another month, Norns willing. We can talk about it then.”

“No, no. You’re right. It’s little more than a glamour. I shouldn’t have…I’ll just show you when you get back.”

“Ragna, what -“

The yellow brick went dead. Ragna’s image vanished.

The drinks tray, however, had circled around again.

 _Just the vinegar I needed to clean off my silver tongue._ Loki snatched a glass for each hand. He sipped at one. Yes, quality enough.

_Walk in there, approach from behind, spill your drink on him. That ought to get a hush of silence to fall, and then, once you have all of their attention, you clean it up magically and offer him the other drink. Then it’s just a matter of being outrageous enough to stand out, but charming enough to be enjoyable. A cakewalk._

_Then perhaps…home. Just a quick trip._ There was some discontent in his belly; a sense that not all was right. Yet Ragna was a talented young mage, and had not he experimented in his time? Thor could put out a fire as well as Loki could, if something went wrong. He should allow her to explore. But... _Maybe I should call Thor and Idona, tell them to keep an eye on her..._

Halfway up the stairs, he realized Doug was following behind him again.

“I want to apologize for the, um, horse misunderstanding. And interrupting your call. I hope you, uh, won’t hold it against Earth-1. It would be a very bad look for Xanflax Food Tablets if their spokesperson riled up a Norse God and, er, caused him to attack the planet. I’m pretty sure that’s a no-no in my contract. It was very thorough.”

“There is a saying amongst my people - a truth I hold in my heart,” Loki said sincerely.

Doug leaned in close. “What is it?”

“In the words of one of the greatest Asgardian philosophers to ever live: 'Another day, another Doug.' And you are certainly just another Doug in a long line of Dougs in my life, Doug.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these aliens are inspired by those in Marvel comics (there really is a wealth of crazy ideas - The vampiric Epsilonis and their troubles with sentient machinery called New-Life were too entertaining and bizarre to pass up a mention of, although I did change New-Life into overly connected kitchenware. Stuff in my universe plays by my rules, dangit. 
> 
> I know a few Doug Joneses. No resemblance meant, I swear! ...We can all be a bit of a Doug sometimes. 
> 
> I'm not sure if any of these alien characters will return yet. It depends on how they're liked here, I suppose, or if I have any more ideas (for Doug, I admit, I could see a long future...I don't think K'xling is letting go of him anytime soon.)


End file.
